


How Nick Fury Saves the World

by aslipperysloth



Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Crack, F/M, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslipperysloth/pseuds/aslipperysloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Fury keeps the team together with his 'special' kind of support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Nick Fury Saves the World

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt at [avengerkink](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com) ( _Tony is acting like a bratty child, so Fury bends him over his knee and treats him like one._ ) Somehow the spanking became a paragraph and Fury just started banging everybody willy nilly. 'Papa Fury' regrets nothing! Sleep with ALL the Avengers!

 

Never let it be said that Nicholas Fury does not care about his team. He cares about them way too goddamn much, in his opinion. His wall schedule is filled to the brim (seriously, there’s no space left to write anything) with appointments and meetings, most of which are to deal with the crap that comes up as a result of his main super team. After all, the Avengers don’t operate in a vacuum. When Manhattan gets destroyed and Ms. Smith on the street starts asking who’s going to replace her Hulk-crushed Mercedes, Papa Fury is called on to clean up the mess and pay the bills. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are also a host of other stupid, minor issues that he is forced to take care of on a daily basis.

‘Donald Blake’ arrested in Wakanda without a valid passport and Visa? Papa Fury’s problem. Rogers stuck somewhere after forgetting bus fare has risen from five cents to two fifty? Papa Fury. Press conference after Stark’s nudes hit the gossip sites? Papa _fucking_ Fury.

Dealing with these problems are not, however, the only things Nick Fury does for his team.

There’s also his ‘extra-curricular’ support.

You see, when Nick Fury first forms the Avengers, it’s at best a tentative arrangement. None of them particularly understand that they have to work together, that they’re all just cogs in one giant machine. Getting them to cooperate is like pulling teeth. Stark and Rogers butt heads like a couple after about thirty years of marriage. Thor has a tendency to alternate between behaving like a mopey dog or an overgrown frat-boy, and if he’s having a bad day he doesn’t like to play with others. Hawkeye and Widow are always doing their on-again-off-again shit, which would be fine if they were regular people and Romanoff’s cooperation wasn’t a matter of national security. Dr. Banner is set off by the slightest thing, be it pop music or losing his favourite pen, and this year alone Nick’s had to replace at least ten anger management counselors. Banner has also destroyed his office no less than three times, and every time Nick tries to bill the Doctor for the damage, headquarters ends up losing another floor.

That said, however, he knows that if everyone is satisfied they’ll stick to the team, obey, and for the most part behave themselves.

That’s where his special support comes in. Nick Fury will be the one common connection between all of them, no matter what.

It’s a proven method. He’d done it with the Howling Commandos, and he’s continued to do so with every team he’s worked with to this very day.

Every team has stayed together.

*

Tony Stark is his favourite team member, and to be honest, knowing Stark, the man probably likes it that way.

Stark has always loved pushing his buttons. At first he didn’t understand _why_ , but he’s come to realize that Stark’s a pretty vulnerable guy underneath all the bravado. He’s come to understand what he really needs.

Anyway, Tony Stark gives the best damn blowjobs Fury has ever received in his life – and he’s lived a long one.

Nick doesn’t know if it’s despite the snarky mouth or because of it, but the man is talented and well practiced at his craft. He can take him deep, really deep. When he works, Stark likes to put his hands on Nick’s hips and pretend that he’s going to hold him down when he gets to the point where he can’t help but thrust without restraint. But he never does, because that’s what he _wants_. Stark constantly tries to get him to lose control, his tongue running up the underside of Nick’s cock with perfect accuracy and twisting just so. But Nick makes him work for it, so that only if he’s _really_ good will he get the rough abandon that he’s looking for.

It’s not like Nick doesn’t enjoy it too, love watching Stark struggle to relax his throat and watch his eyes clench tight, slightly wet with effort.

Whenever they do this, Nick remains in the chair at his desk, still dressed in his turtleneck and gun holster, with his pants pulled down just far enough and the chair pushed back sufficiently so that Stark can fit under the desk. It’s always under the desk. Not that Stark isn’t used to being recorded doing obscene things on security cameras, but he’s never quite sure who might come into the office to discuss actual business. No one wants the President of the United States seeing this, after all.

This fine afternoon, Stark pulls off with a gasp to catch his breath, lips open and wet and obscene, and lets out a sound of want and craving. Despite what the tabloids say, the man loves dick.

“Still think I can’t afford you?” Nick asks, watching Stark still heave for breath, before twisting a hand into the full head of hair and holding him steady as he wraps his own hand around his cock. It’s still slick after Stark’s diligent work. Stark gives him a dirty grin in return, and a winded,

“You’re getting there, Fury.”

Nick comes on his face, mostly hitting his cheek and the ridiculous goatee. A smug smile pulls at Stark’s lips through which he sneaks out a tongue to catch the little that’s managed to land on the corner of his mouth.

If he weren’t so rich, Nick would suggest he consider porn.

“Good boy,” Nick says after he comes down from the high, trying to make it sound as tender as possible, which for him is a difficult thing to do. It’s a sort of backhanded but simple way of saying thank you, because Stark’s actually a much simpler man than he likes to think. It’s painfully obvious that he loves praise; in fact he’s desperate for it. This is no surprise, for Nick remembers Howard Stark very well, and it’s easy to imagine that praise was one of those things a young Tony would have gone without. Much like discipline and structure.

Nick has no problem filling this parental role every once in a while. Whenever Stark misbehaves, he likes nothing more than to bend him over his lap, and watch as the creamy skin gets pinker with every hard slap until the man eventually shakes with release and finally runs out of witty comments.

*

Captain America is a little different, however.

Rogers needs moral support more than anything. Not that he isn’t doing well adapting to his new life, Lord knows he’s doing better than just about ninety-nine percent of the population would in his situation, but it’s still agonizingly clear that he is _really fucking lonely_.

When Rogers first joins the Avengers, he’s actually still on suicide watch. The psychologists are concerned that he hasn’t broken down over losing his whole life, and that he hasn’t seemed to have dealt with either the death of his best friend or his girlfriend. But Fury’s the only one to know this, because to everyone else Rogers seems so perfect and well adjusted. The others don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes.

Fury’s special support begins with Rogers calling one of his low-level agents. Nick keeps track of everything that goes on to do with the Avengers, so he also overhears the call while he’s sitting in his office trying to decide which new applicants to accept into the research department.

“I’m having trouble operating the DVD…recorder thing,” Rogers says, and there’s nothing particularly troubling about that, until it hits him that all electronics-related issues usually go through Stark. Even if Stark was a little busy (and let’s be honest, he never _is_ busy when Captain America is concerned), why would it be so important that he would need to call S.H.I.E.L.D. about it now at ten o’clock in the evening?

So, Fury ends up foregoing dinner in order to make a house call. Good thing too, because in actuality Rogers is finally having that breakdown.

Nick’s never been to the Captain’s apartment before, even though he signs off on the rent every month. There’s seriously almost _nothing_ in it, to the point where it looks near uninhabited. An old picture of Agent Carter sits alone on the bedside table beside a beaten-up library copy of Lord of the Rings. The open closet only contains his old and new uniforms and two almost identical sets of casual clothes. The famous shield is in a corner. There’s nothing on the walls.

Christ, it feels so pathetically desolate that even his old, hardened heart feels for him. But then Nick realizes that it’s probably, or at least partially his fault. After all, he hadn’t considered that Rogers might need more than a bed, a TV, and a counselor who only works weekdays, nine to five. Who else does the man have to call on late at night in the event that Stark’s occupied being drunk, Thor’s in Asgard, and Widow – well he knows damn well Widow won’t ever turn on her goddamn phone.

“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” Rogers says after Nick lets himself in and closes the door. He can already hear the hitch in his voice. “Tony’s in Malibu and I-”

Removing his coat and gun, he does a quick scan for cameras and bugs to ensure that what he’s about to do isn’t going to get out and damage his hardass reputation. Then he takes off his shoes, walks up to Rogers, and puts his long arms around him. That’s when the Captain loses it.

“Okay, soldier,” he says, holding the shaking body that seems twice his size, despite being slightly shorter, as the tears soak into his shirt. “All right, come on now. Your country needs you. America needs you. You gotta keep going.”

Steve thanks him afterwards. He always thanks him afterwards. Nick’s not a robot; it’s nice to be thanked every once in a goddamn while.

Okay, so maybe it isn’t really Fury’s ‘special’ kind of support in this case, but can you really blame him? The kid’s obviously a virgin, a distraught one. It wouldn’t be fair. Stark can take care of that, if they ever get their act together.

Don’t anyone say he doesn’t care about his kids.

*

“Yeah? You like that, huh?”

Nick tries to let out as pornographic a groan as possible as he’s pushed further into the headboard, head hitting the end of the honeymoon suite hotel bed, his eyepatch annoyingly being shoved here and there by its contact with the oversized pillow. The sound is exaggerated and fake, but his partner doesn’t seem to care.

“You love how I always hit the target, don’t you?” he continues in a low, gruff voice. “Because I’m bigger than what you’re used to, right?” Nick rolls his eye as he tilts his head to the side so he can check his watch as covertly as possible. At least he doesn’t have to worry about paying attention or being an active participant in these encounters. He’s got to fly to North Korea in three hours to break out some of his captured spies from a labour camp, and he’s not sure if he’s remembered to remind everyone to pack the extra set of grenades. So he doesn’t have the energy to deal with this sex business right now, but it will be over soon.

“Tell me you like my dick. Tell me you like it.” Hawkeye’s always heavy on the dirty talk.

“Love it,” Nick mumbles, as he tries to mentally review the maps he’d stayed up all night memorizing. When he can’t quite get it right, he tries to sneak out the smartphone he’s hidden under the pillow, but Barton decides to grab his hands and hold them down against the stark white sheets.

“That’s it, take it. Yeah. You need me, don’t you?” This almost makes Nick break his composure and bust a gut, but he holds back. He has to be serious; this is his job after all. “You need me,” Barton adds with an obscene groan, and at this point Nick frankly has to fight the urge to throw him off and tell him _No, dumbass, of course we don’t need you. You don’t even have a superpower_. But he keeps his cool.

Also, when he thinks about it, it’s a little bit true. They do need him sometimes. If Iron Man’s suit starts fucking around, for example, or if Banner ever finds a cure for his condition, it wouldn’t hurt to have a few normal but talented humans around. Just in case.

“God, Fury, you feel so good. You are so fucking tight. Annghh, tell me you need me, baby.” Nick’s eye narrows dangerously. He’s really pushing his luck today. If it weren’t for the fact that Barton saved his life once (although that’s questionable, he’s almost certain he would have been fast enough to disarm the assassin on his own had Barton not charged in arrows literally blazing), he wouldn’t put up with being called a goddamn baby, not in a million years.

“Tell me you need me,” Barton repeats in a strained voice, accompanied by a harsh grunt, grabbing Nick’s hips and thrusting in as far as he can.

“Ouch, fucking _ouch_ motherfucker!” Coulson’s always going on and on about how amazing this guy is, like he’s some fancy new breed of pet to be studied, but Nick has yet to experience those talents, especially in the bedroom. But even so, he wants to get this over with, so he sucks it up, musters up as much genuine emotion as possible, and says, “Yeah, we need you.”

It gets Hawkeye off every time.

*

Nick Fury doesn’t actually sleep with astrophysicist Jane Foster, but he does sleep with her boyfriend in order to get to her. That way he can keep the both of them. It’s not greedy, just practical.

Thor himself is easy. He likes drinking, eating, fighting, and fucking, not necessarily in that order, and to be honest he’s not entirely sure if it matters whom with, with the positive exception of his newfound love for Jane. Thor’s day-to-day needs are taken care of without difficulty, but Foster they’re not so sure about. The S.H.I.E.L.D. science division has informed him that the problems on their hands are increasing dramatically, and they cannot afford to lose their leading expert on the serious of tubes through space wormhole Einstein-whatever bridges. Shit is coming through these holes and that shit becomes Fury’s problem. So far they’ve seen frost giants, giant wolf creatures, a few evil goats and some honest to god _elves_.

Without Jane Foster and her research, they are finished.

They do pay her, as well as her assistants, very well. He’s got Selvig working on the cube of unlimited power and the other one (“Can I touch your head?” “Anybody ever tell you you look like that guy from Star Wars?” “Hey, where’s your parrot today?”) is on the salary books too even though her job just seems to be hanging around. Still, everyone’s understandably worried that Ms. Foster will eventually tire of Thor’s idiocy and choose to leave their organization vulnerable to further inter-dimensional attack in order to pursue her own projects.

They’ve had meetings about it. No joke.

“So you say I must learn the ways of mortal love to keep my fair Jane by my side,” Thor says to him one evening when Fury’s lecturing him about how scientists need eight hours of sleep and can’t stay up all night eating Kashi cereal and watching the last twenty years of Midgardian cinema. “I will listen to your wise words, friend.”

So he teaches him about courtship and flowers and physics-related nerd gifts. He teaches him foreplay, and the best sexual positions for every kind of scenario. Perhaps the best thing he teaches him is the importance of keeping his tongue working on a woman, even if he’s fucking bored as hell, until she damn well tells him to get off. Foster has shit to do connecting space and time, “the more you show off like the guys in the pornos Stark’s been giving you without thinking about getting solid results, the more time is taken away from work. She comes first, no pun intended.”

“Hmm,” Thor says thoughtfully, and then Fury pulls him back down onto his cock by the head of ridiculous blond hair and makes him show him that’s he’s actually taken his words to heart.

They manage to go through all positions in the space of an evening like they’re re-enacting the fucking Kama Sutra, but actually one evening is all they need for the sex lessons proper. Thor isn’t bad, in the end. Rough, but carefully so. Appropriately toned down for Nick and Thor’s ‘clever maiden’ and their fragile earthly bodies.

“She very much enjoyed what I had learned. Thank you, shield brother,” Thor says the next week, slapping a broad hand brashly against his back. Agent Hill gasps and looks at them with a mixture of fear and shock, but Fury lets the act go with impunity. “I feel I have completed my lessons and can be a lover worthy of your epic tales. Now let us drink and indulge ourselves as befits warriors.”

Cheers, job done.

*

“Heart rate at sixty-five percent of maximum,” Fury says, looking at the monitor as he pistons his hips slightly faster. “Steady?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” his partner says, breathless and sweaty. “My goal today is seventy. I think I might be able to make it.”

“Well, make it quick, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“If you could just do it properly, it would make this a lot easier,” he whines.

“Huh?”

“I told you this would be best from behind, but you insisted-” his breath hitches as he rearranges his own legs around Nick’s. “Just…just move faster!”

“Wait a minute, time out,” Nick says, appalled, pausing mid-thrust. “Are you giving me orders?”

“Are you giving _me_ orders?” the man replies.

“Damn right I am!”

Banner hulks out in record time.

This is why Fury’s always on top with him. During transformation, he’s simply pushed out and ends up sprawled over one of the giant green legs, from which he carefully climbs down, pulls on his clothing, and adds the results of the encounter to the growing experimental logs as the interns take care of sedation.

*

To this day, the Russians still don’t know how Fury persuaded Natasha to jump ship. Nor do S.H.I.E.L.D. staff know how he gets her to stay here.

It’s simple. The best orgasms are to be had in the United States of America. God bless America.

Fury always keeps a careful watch over the Black Widow, though, to make sure she doesn’t consider leaving. The most dangerous days are the ones where Hawkeye’s skills (of which he has had first-hand experience) have left her unsatisfied. He knows all the signs of that. During those days the usually composed agent becomes antsy and fidgety, and has little patience for the male stupidity that sometimes results from the rest of the team simply getting together and combining that much testosterone.

That’s when he knows it’s time to get to work.

“Ahhh, Fury, you have a talented tongue,” she says, and it’s the only substantial thing she says to him the whole time as they work in the one recreation room that is mysteriously missing a security camera. She’s spread flat out on the large sofa, her legs over his shoulders and her hands alternating between her own breasts and his bald head. He runs his fingers teasingly down her body, through the soft thatch of red hair and briefly over her clit, before he replaces his hand with his mouth. He has no problem putting his tongue all over the place down there: ass, thighs, lips, briefly even dipping inside her to taste the delicious wetness. Did he ever mention that outside of work, he’s pretty straight? Because Natasha’s body is fantastic in all places.

Soon she bumps his back with a foot, and he gives her a couple of solid fingers, stroking against the spots she really likes, getting down to business. She’s never really loud, but the soft grunts she makes are telling. He doesn’t need to write the alphabet on her clit with his tongue; he knows full well what he’s doing.

They’ve done this so many times that it doesn’t take long. After ten, maybe fifteen minutes her thighs tense up and her breathing deepens and then she stops making sound entirely. She’s close. A moment later he holds her through the contractions and then licks her clean afterwards before she sits up, zips up the skin-tight suit and removes the ‘Renovations in progress’ sign on the door on her way out.

Hopefully it’s enough to get her through the next few days. He’s a busy man, after all, much as he does love his job sometimes.

*

The last person he deals with on a regular basis is not, strictly speaking, an Avenger.

But they _are_ old friends, and old habits die hard.

They have a rather relaxing arrangement. It’s not as strict as it is with the others, and certainly not as predictable. That’s probably because they rarely get time off.

However, on the infrequent weekend or random evening when there is some free time, they sometimes get together for a drink or coffee, usually at Coulson’s house.

Often it ends with some television and mutual handjobs.

Recently Coulson has been riveted by old reruns of some show where this chubby white woman puts other people’s kids on a naughty chair (he makes a mental note to try that method with Stark someday) and she seems to get him hot under the collar, not that it’s easy to tell the difference between aroused Coulson and normal Coulson. Nick’s just got experience, that’s all, and he can tell she’s doing something for him, somehow.

They don’t ever really look at each other, but it is a kind of shared thing. Fury often ends up coming first, as the man of hidden talents possesses some surprisingly gifted hands. Coulson typically follows shortly after, with a barely audible sigh and a “Thanks,” that sounds no different than when Fury signs off on something for him or confirms his vacation requests. “I needed that.” But you wouldn’t know it. Coulson’s always so composed that even afterwards not a single hair is out of place and even his suit (who wears suits on the weekend?) barely even has a wrinkle.

Then he hands Fury his weekly stack of paperwork and they part ways.

*

It should be obvious by now that Nick Fury cares about his team. It’s sometimes exhausting work, but in the end he does feel the confident thrill that results from a job well done. When he goes home at night after a long day, his conscience is clear and he can sit in his huge relaxing chair and just chill, knowing that the Avengers are all going to stay together.

Tonight he’s so worn out that he doesn’t even bother turning on the lights. He simply grabs a beer from his fridge on the way to his large living room, drops down to cushiony heaven, and almost drifts off until he feels the light touch of fingers on his shoulders through the plain, black shirt. Then he feels them dig into his tense, stressed muscles.

Hurts so good. He lets out a groan.

“How was your day?” comes the mysterious voice in its smooth accent.

“Rough,” Nick replies.

“Literally or figuratively?” He feels a touch of hair against his head, and one of the hands moves down to fondle the buttons of his shirt teasingly.

“Do you really want to know?” At the question, he can feel the atmosphere of the room heat up. If he didn’t know better, he would put it down to jealousy.

“If it involves my brother, yes. How is he?” the voice asks.

“Big and stupid,” Fury replies, and he hears the sound of a scarf dropping to the hardwood floor. Earth fashion must be difficult for him; it must be seventy degrees out. “You gonna attack him, or is our ceasefire still on?”

“Don’t you trust me? We had a deal,” comes the lyrical laugh, and then there’s hot breath on his ear followed by a passionate whisper. “But,” the ear is kissed gently, and Nick shivers as a fiery tongue brushes against a ridge. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a little more… _persuasion_.”

*

See? Never let it be said that Nick Fury doesn’t care about his team.

Also, he really needs a vacation.


End file.
